The Polaroid

I'm not sure why I keep it. Rather, I don't want to know why I keep it. It was all so long ago. They had sent me down the road to the market and liquor store to get some groceries and a bottle of wine. I came home to find it taped to the front door. There was my wife, on our bed, without a stitch on. My best friend Dave had collected on his bet. He was given a half hour with Melanie and my camera and any pose he wanted. I suppose I should be grateful that it was relatively demure. Melanie on her side, one huge 44D boob hanging out. One arm was under her head, reaching for the pillow, the other was across her toned stomach. Her long shapely legs were slightly bent, you could just spy her bush. All of her was in the frame from pink painted toenails on her lovely feet to the crown of her head with it abundant and glorious mane of rich brown hair. On the third finger of her left hand, you could just see her wedding and engagement rings. Above that, her light brown areolas and chance pink nipples. The worst though is the sly smile on her face. Even though her blue eyes are closed you can tell that she is very much into this.

She liked being naked in front of my best friend! That Mona Lisa smile proved that and so much more. It was a betrayal. I felt hollow all over. All the dinners Dave had eaten at our house after softball games, the double dates Melanie and I had gone out with Dave and his flavor of the month; it all came back. I recalled the times when Dave visited and Melanie was running around the house in a pair of cutoff shorts and a clingy, size too small T-shirt, Dave had noticed her. But that wasn't surprising, any normal red-blooded man found Melanie incredibly desirable. He had told me that he considered Melanie beautiful, but I just thought he was being complimentary. Should I have been proud? Angry? Flattered? Miffed? I honestly didn't know.

The front door was locked. I found my key. For the moment, I left the polaroid taped where it was while I manipulated the lock and balanced my parcels. Dave was sitting opposite Melanie on the couch. She was wearing the clothes she had on when I had departed for the stores, jeans, sneakers, red sweater over white blouse. Her eyes met mine as I entered. I absolutely could not read her emotion. Dave greeted me with a wide smile and an infuriating wink. As if recalling her responsibilities as a wife, Melanie rose to her feet and hurried to embrace and kiss me. The kiss was sultry. Had posing for Dave turned her on?

"Hi honey! I'm glad your home. We can use that bottle of wine."

"So, we are not going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

I groaned and retrieved the polaroid from the front door.

"Yes, Peter, darling, Dave collected on his bet."

"I can see that!" I barked, "What happened?"

"Obviously, I took off my clothes and Dave took my picture. This polaroid is yours to keep."

"There were others?"

"Does that matter?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed.

"No, it doesn't, darling?" she said as she embraced me. "Not really."

She kissed me again.

"The story is simple Peter. I lost the bet. We went into our bedroom. I took off my clothes. I got on the bed. Dave took pictures. I got off the bed. I put my clothes back on. Dave and I came out to the living room where we've been chatting ever since, waiting for you to come home."

"Mel, that is both a quite specific description yet an incredibly vague one at the same time."

She cocked her head at me. "Is that so? Well, those are the only and final words on the matter that will ever cross my lips."

She kissed me a third time.

And that was all I ever got out of her.

We drank the wine. We ate the food and talked around the issue for the rest of the night. I could not help but notice that Dave had a stack of what appeared to be Polaroids in his vest pocket. The urge to run over to him and yank them from his pocket was overwhelming. Could I really blame Dave for wanting to see Mel Au natural? Of course not! How many times had I fantasized about the babes he dated? More times than I could count!

In so many respects, this was just another friendly dinner for the three of us. Melanie and Dave seemed to take it in stride. As for me? I was irrevocably and permanently changed. Try as I might, I simply could not bury the issue deep in my lizard brain. I wanted to simultaneously know everything and know nothing.

I can't calculate the number of hours I have spent contemplating that photo. Because of the layout of our bedroom, I know the precise spot Dave was standing as he aimed the camera. When I stand there, I can swear that I hear a faint buzz, a phantom sound of a Polaroid camera spitting out pictures. I wanted to take my own pictures of Mel, but she turned me down flat every time. I never found her reasons for denying me this nicety convincing. Did she prefer getting naked for Dave over getting naked for me? Naturally, after the fact, I watched how my wife and my best friend interacted. If they were having an affair, they must have been magicians, because they left no evidence. Not even smoke and mirrors. I forced myself to remain close to Dave. A man needs all the friends he can get, even if they betray him. Had Dave betrayed me? Damned if I know. It was a relief when his company transferred him to the opposite end of the country. Mel fell sick a short time later. I really miss her. Out of all the mementos of our life together, this Polaroid may be the most significant artifact. I scanned it some years ago, before the colors faded. After I lost Mel, it was my computer wallpaper for a while.

"What do we really know about the people we marry? As much as I've tried to fill in the details of what happened while I was on my errand I can't. Dave never revealed any more details than Mel about the experience. As far as the lying weasel is concerned, the Polaroid I possess is the lone image he took. I thought about it, imagined myself there, beat off to it mentally. Now, I just try to give it a rest. I'm not getting any younger and Shelia doesn't give a shit about my feelings on the matter. My second wife is on the side of my late first wife. It's like she's continuing the conspiracy of silence from the great beyond. Still, it is the image of my beautiful wife that has stayed with me above all others. Our wedding photos? Honeymoon snaps? Poolside in a bikini on vacation?

All of them pale compared to this one image of a fleeting moment. This was, for better or worse, my wife as I knew her best. It's not a professionally captured picture from a studio, yet this shows her beauty, innocence, deviltry, and poise like none of the thousands of other photos of her do. Even now, all these years later, when I look at it, I feel all the emotions I did when it was brand new. Once I abhorred that feeling, now I treasure it. Does that mean that I'm slowing down, or does it mean that I've finally matured? I honestly don't know. I do know that I am going to ask my son to smuggle it into my casket when my time comes. This picture was for my eyes only, so shall it ever be. Maybe, on the other side, that little minx will come clean with me. If not? I suppose I'll have other things to worry about in eternity!